


The Line Between

by rebecca_selene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebecca_selene/pseuds/rebecca_selene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sheer amount of tears filling their eyes does not promote recognition of anything external, except, perhaps, the sheer amount of tears in others’ eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line Between

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Threesome Big Bang at [](http://hp_3forfun.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_3forfun**](http://hp_3forfun.livejournal.com/) AND for my [](http://hc_bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hc_bingo.livejournal.com/)**hc_bingo** card prompt “grief”  
>  Banner by [**ginny_lv_harry**](http://ginny_lv_harry.livejournal.com/)

  


They go to the funerals. Or, rather, they go at the funeral; the sheer amount of dead people to honour and remember does not promote individual ceremonies, even after an event as life-changing as the end of a Wizarding War. But they never talk to each other; the sheer amount of tears filling their eyes does not promote recognition of anything external, even when the external might prove a welcome distraction.

Bodies linger around the caskets containing their loved ones’ bodies, laid out on the Hogwarts lawn. Friends walk slowly to friends and whisper, as if signs of life are insults to the memories of the deceased.

A high concentration of red-heads gathers around one particular casket, their bodies nearly obscuring it from view. The whites of their eyes, when seen over the shoulders of whomever they are hugging at the moment, match their hair.

A dark-haired matron with a bundle of blankets in her arms wavers between three caskets lined in a row, her steps moving her between the first two, then the second two, then at the ends, until finally she takes a chair, places it in front of the middle casket, sits, and doesn’t move for a very long time.

They’re there, but they’re not. Sometimes, the line between the dead and the half-dead is in the eye of the beholder.

***

That night, after Molly Weasley’s distraught state of mind manifests itself in a dinner with only just enough food to satisfy everyone without any leftovers, the kitchen is empty. While the rest of the household pretends to sleep, George sits staring at the floor with his shoulders hunched. Suddenly, he looks up and speaks into the silence, “We were the ones who sent you that dragon dung fertilizer sample, Perce.”

Across the kitchen table, tears retrace long-dried tracks down his brother’s cheeks as he nods. “I know.”

“We…I’m sorry.” His tries to implore forgiveness with his eyes, but he doesn’t have enough spark left in him.

Percy shakes his head. “Like I said then: it was important.” His breath hitches on the last word, and he looks away.

George’s eyes widen. He sits back as if punched in the chest. His fists clench, and suddenly he’s crying, sobs wrenching enough to rip a soul apart. He doesn’t bother trying to hold it in anymore, and he wonders with relief if his soul will just ride his grief out of his body. But then Percy is next to him, holding him, anchoring him, and shaking.

George clutches Percy tightly. He’s not his twin, never can be, but Percy is _there_ now, and he was _there_ then when his twin said his last words, and deep down George suspects that Percy’s grief runs together with guilt like salt in water, and that, like salt water, it will take much longer to boil away. So George holds on while his grief pours down his brother’s neck and he tries to tell Percy without words what Fred would have wanted him to say; that Percy is forgiven.

***

It’s only a few days after the funeral that the Ministry finally rights itself enough to present Orders of Merlin to the fallen defenders of Hogwarts. In a large auditorium in the Ministry of Magic, Andromeda sits at the end of the second row with her grandson in her arms and holes in her heart.

Kingsley Shacklebolt calls the names one by one, and as he progresses through the list of people who will never stand up to receive their own honour, his voice sounds less sure and his expression falls. Andromeda isn’t any good at Legilimency, but growing up amongst Blacks makes anyone into a decent people-reader. And Andromeda reads _regret_ and _doubt_ all over the acting Minister of Magic.

Family members step up to the podium to receive their loved ones’ plaques. Colin Creevey’s brother has to support his father after the man has accepted his dead son’s Order. The entire Weasley family, who occupies most of the row in front of Andromeda, stands up and moves in such a chaotic manner that it would be funny, under different circumstances. Harry Potter, dry-eyed but pale, clutches Remus’ plaque to his chest. And then Shacklebolt calls out, “Ted Tonks.”

Andromeda blinks. It’s different watching others react to the names of the deceased. Now she feels all eyes on her as she stands, shifting her slumbering grandson to one arm as she walks forward. Shacklebolt gives her as reassuring a smile as can be expected, shakes her hand, and hands her a small wooden square with her husband’s name on it.

She turns to go back to her seat and barely has time to think that the object in her hand is a poor substitute for the man she once held against her body when Shacklebolt lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, keeping her at the podium, and calls out another name. “Nymphadora Tonks Lupin.”

Her daughter’s name rings through her numb brain. There’s another wooden block with another name, but the name’s son is in one of Andromeda’s arms, and the name’s father is in the other. Andromeda has no more room to carry any more burdens.

Andromeda can feel time passing as she tries to puzzle out how to accept the Order from Shacklebolt’s hand. Her mind moves too slowly, though, and she can’t find a solution, and then she’s crying, clutching her grandson to her bosom and weeping for the daughter she can’t.

There’s a hand on her other shoulder now. She thinks she hears someone say, “Here, I’ll take it,” but she can’t be sure through the fuzziness in her mind and throat. The new hand leads her away from the podium, and she panics.

“No, wait, my daughter,” she protests. “I can’t leave my daughter.” She tries to go back, but the hand stops her.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Tonks. I have her Order. It’s right here.” Andromeda wipes at her eyes and cheeks and sees a red-headed, red-eyed young man next to her, holding up Nymphadora’s plaque as proof.

“Oh,” is all she can say as the man continues to lead her out of the room and into the Atrium. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley.” She doesn’t know which Weasley it is, but the red hair gives him away.

He smiles, and Andromeda is pretty sure it’s the first genuine one she’s seen since the battle at Hogwarts nearly two weeks ago. “George, ma’am.”

It’s only now that Andromeda notices the way his hair lies flatter on the left side of his head than the right, and she recalls her daughter’s description of the battle in which, disguised as Harry Potter, one of the Weasley twins lost an ear and Alastor Moody was killed. She suppresses a shudder.

Andromeda wants to return George’s smile. She tries, but her memories and the Order he still holds for her prevent her. “Andromeda,” she says instead.

George hesitates, and then nods. “All right, Andromeda. Er, I can help you back home, or wherever, if…if you need it.”

She’s about to refuse his offer, thank him for his trouble, but she stops herself before the words can come out. She realizes that her home — a house now, really — hasn’t seen company for too long. She’s kept it clean, of course, since she had to do something in between Teddy’s waking moments, but no opportunity to entertain guests presented itself.

Until now, in the form of a red-headed young man who quite literally offered a helping hand. “All right,” Andromeda agrees, enjoying the way George relaxes at her acceptance. People start to file out of the auditorium, signaling the end of the ceremony. She feels the urgency to leave, selfish as it is; she can’t stand to mingle with all these grieving witches and wizards. Not now that she’s had a brief respite from the grief that has accosted her day and night since her family died. She gives George her Floo coordinates and steps up to a fireplace, only to realize that she still holds too much to be able to pick up Floo powder. She turns, unsure of how to proceed, only to find George talking to, presumably, one of his brothers, whose back is facing Andromeda.

George looks at her over his brother’s shoulder. He must see her hesitation because he asks, “What’s wrong?” and walks over.

She indicates her full hands and says, “I can’t get the Floo powder.”

Somehow George’s freckled cheeks turn even redder. “Of course, I should have realized. I can take your hus…the other Order for you.” Andromeda hands it over, and George tucks it under his arm. When he reaches for the Floo powder, though, his brother shakes his head.

“You’ll never hold on to it like that in the Floo. Here, I’ll take it.” He glances at Andromeda. “If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Tonks.”

Andromeda makes a mental note to congratulate Molly on raising such polite sons and to remember a bag the next time she travels anywhere by Floo, even if she only expects to be gone a short time. “That’s fine, Mr…er…”

“Percy,” the young man supplies.

“…Percy.” She looks at the two red-heads eager to help her carry two Orders and a baby, now starting to wake, back home. She sighs and picks up some Floo powder. “Let’s go, then.”

She calls out her coordinates and steps into the fire, covering Teddy’s mouth and nose with his blanket so he can’t breathe in any ash.

***

Percy isn’t sure how it happened, but for five whole minutes he hasn’t felt the dark cloud of despair he’s come to associate with his current life. Andromeda is bringing tea to a boil, and, after handing the Order he held to Percy, George is now feeding Teddy Lupin a bottle. Percy places the Orders carefully on the kitchen table and sits down.

Watching George focus on his task eases something in Percy’s heart. His brother doesn’t look quite so haggard, so beaten anymore. Percy watches the infant suck greedily until out of the corner of his eye he sees Andromeda turn from the stove.

Like Percy, the woman seems captivated by the image George and Teddy make. The corners of her lips pull up ever so slightly as she stands there, tea kettle in one hand, tea cups in the other.

Then she seems to remember what she was doing and tears her gaze away from her grandson. She places a cup in front of the empty chair across the table from Percy, one in front of George, and she’s reaching to place one in front of Percy when she notices the plaques. Her hand trembles, the corners of her lips fall, and the despair falls over Percy’s shoulders again.

He stands and gathers the Orders. He knows that Andromeda already knows the names written on the plaques, but he keeps them turned away from her eyesight all the same. “I’ll just…I’ll place these in the living room for now, yeah?” he asks.

She blinks and nods, continuing the previously aborted motion of placing the last tea cup at Percy’s seat. Percy turns to step out of the room and notices George’s eyes on him now, no longer on Teddy. Percy steps into the hallway and wishes, not for the first time, that he could have traded places with Fred. Maybe then the sorrow in George’s eyes wouldn’t be so deep.

Percy finds the living room — the immaculate living room, he notices idly — and places the Orders face-down on a side table. He returns to the kitchen to find the tea already poured and Andromeda and George staring into their untouched cups.

As Percy regains his seat, he’s struck by how quiet the house is. Even in the post-Battle pall that has settled over the Burrow, there are still the constant sounds that nine — eight — people, a ghoul, and an old magically-structured house cannot help but make. Andromeda’s house contains only the sound of Teddy eating to break the silence. Percy suddenly realizes just how deafening the silence can be and wonders how Andromeda can stand it.

As if sharing his thoughts, George speaks. “Thank you for the tea, Andromeda.” He doesn’t take his hands away from Teddy or the bottle, though, so Percy picks up his own cup and takes a sip. It’s peppermint, and the flavor tingles against the roof of his mouth while the warmth soothes his nerves.

“It’s very good,” he says, whether to compliment Andromeda or let George know, he’s not sure. He takes another sip.

“Thank you,” Andromeda replies, finally taking a sip as well. “And you’re welcome,” she says to George. “You didn’t have to accompany me or feed Teddy, you know.”

George shrugs, the movement disconnecting the almost empty bottle from Teddy’s mouth. George replaces the bottle before the infant has time to cry in protest. “It’s no trouble,” he says quietly.

Andromeda studies him for a moment before giving a small, unconscious nod and looking back down at her tea. Percy wonders if she, too, sees the returning spark of life in George’s eyes. Her fingertips drum against the tea cup for a moment before she begins, “I could use some help around the house sometimes.” George and Percy both focus on her. “There are some things that need fixing; patches in the walls and tightening light fixtures and such, and I could do it with magic, but it’s too dangerous to have Teddy around, and I don’t like leaving him alone…” She trails off, and then looks up again. “If you’ve the time, of course.”

Percy nods instantly. “Of course. We’d be happy to help however we can.” George also nods, pulling the empty bottle from Teddy’s lips. The infant looks like he’s about to cry, but, before George even has time to raise him to his shoulder, Teddy burps loudly and sighs contentedly, snuggling down in the blankets in George’s arms.

And then the adults are giggling. It’s quiet, and it stops quickly, but Percy feels the tightness in his chest loosen just a little bit more, and he notices that the corners of George’s and Andromeda’s mouths never fall quite as far down as they did before.

***

The boys go over to her house often. George suspects that Andromeda purposely unhinges dresser doors and places mold where it shouldn’t be just to keep giving them reasons to stop by, but he doesn’t mind. His mother is so thrilled with his demonstrated initiative that she even makes them all packed lunches.

George spends most of the time watching Teddy, since Percy seems at a loss over what to do every time the infant is placed in his arms. When George mentions that Percy _is_ the older brother of four siblings, Percy just glares and Andromeda laughs. They go into the room with the latest project, and George either feeds Teddy or plays peek-a-boo.

They never talk about the past. It’s all tea and magical repairs and Teddy’s erratic hair color until one day Andromeda asks if George will open the joke shop again.

George’s body stiffens, and he feels his face go stony. He doesn’t speak, just takes a yawning Teddy into his room for a nap. When he returns to the living room, Percy and Andromeda are sitting on the sofa in tense silence. George hesitates for a moment, feeling like the unspoken truce of careful avoidance has been broken, before sitting on the empty cushion next to Andromeda.

“It’s like Harry all over again,” Andromeda says, nodding in the direction of Teddy’s room. Her shoulders hunch over.

On her other side, Percy takes her hand. “Not really. He won’t have to grow up and defeat V-Voldemort. And his family loves him.”

Andromeda nods. “But no parents…”

George shakes his head. “I can’t even imagine. No siblings, either.” He shakes his head again, the concept of being a single child so foreign to him.

“Maybe it’s better though,” Percy says. Shocked, George looks at his brother, who looks back and holds his gaze. “I mean,” Percy explains, “not every sibling turns out for the better.” Now he drops his gaze and removes his hand from Andromeda’s.

“What are you talking about?” George asks. He feels dread bubble up from his belly as he waits for an answer.

Percy stands up and starts to pace, never looking at either George or Andromeda. “I mean, sometimes they aren’t that good. Sometimes they…they aren’t there for you. Sometimes they betray you. That’s not what a brother should be.” His pacing speeds up, and his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. “Sometimes it’s better if they don’t even exist.”

George can’t believe what he’s hearing. The dread boils over at Percy’s words, and he can no longer sit still. He jumps up from the sofa and goes to his brother. “Perce…” he says, but Percy doesn’t respond or slow his pacing. “Percy!” George says, louder, and grabs his brother, pinning his back to the wall to keep him still. “Percy, how can you say such things?”

Percy’s eyes are a little wild, the corners strained, as they meet George’s. “It should have been me,” he whispers. “It would have been better if it was me.”

The bottom of George’s stomach drops out. He suddenly feels weak, even weaker than the shock and blood loss from losing his ear had left him. He’s not even sure he’s breathing until the word falls from his lips: “No.”

It’s stronger than he thought he could speak at that moment, and Percy seems surprised by it too, but still he says, “If you could have chosen, you would have chosen him. And I wouldn’t blame you.” Tears gather at the bottoms of his eyes.

“No,” George repeats. He’s not sure whether he wants to hit Percy or hug him. “I couldn’t choose between my siblings. Between _any_ of my siblings.” Percy looks ready to protest, but George pushes on, cupping his brother’s face in his hands. “I loved – love – Fred. But I love you too. I love you, Percy.”

And then Percy is crying. The tears spill over onto George’s fingers, and then George is pulling Percy in, steadying his brother as he sobs into his shoulder, his own cheeks wet. Between Percy’s sobs, he manages to sputter out, “I l-love you, George. I’m so s-sorry.”

“We forgave you a long time ago, Perce,” George says. And then he feels an arm around his back and looks over to see Andromeda next to him, tears in her eyes and a smile – a real, genuine, sun-shiny _smile_ – on her face.

She wraps them in a tight hug and says tenderly, “My boys. I think we’re all going to be okay after all.”

George searches for the Fred-sized hole that was left in his heart. He finds that it’s still there, still rather large, but he feels Percy’s and Andromeda’s arms squeezing their way inside and making it smaller.

For the first time, he truly believes that they will be okay.

***

They go to the cemetery. Or, rather, they visit their loved ones; the sheer amount of memories between them cannot be captured in the name of a mere location. And they talk to each other and hold hands; the sheer amount of tears in their eyes does not promote solitude, especially when solitude in grief is so destructive.

Gravestones mark where their loved ones’ bodies lie. A toddler breaks away from his grandmother and walks a few steps before tumbling down between his parents, a sign of the life they shared and the future they created.

A high concentration of red-heads gathers around one particular gravestone. The whites of their eyes are red, but they smile as they talk and gesture animatedly.

A dark-haired matron stands with them for a while and then moves away to collect her grandson. Two of the red-heads go with her and, when she stops in front of the central of three gravestones, take her hands in theirs. They don’t move for a long time, but, when they do, they smile at each other secretly.

They’re there, and they’re all right. Sometimes, love pushes away the line between the half-dead and the living.


End file.
